


Simple Gifts Make for Complicated Nights

by tryslora



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anniversary, Community: daily_deviant, Consensual Infidelity, F/M, First Time, Gifts, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Pandering, Prostitution, Talking During Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 05:58:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville gives Luna flowers for their first wedding anniversary. Luna gives Neville the best damned male prostitute she can find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simple Gifts Make for Complicated Nights

**Author's Note:**

> This was my July fic for Daily Deviant, using the prompt of Pandering (procuring a prostitute for someone else). As always, I do not own the world or characters of Harry Potter, I just like to play with them.

Neville gives Luna flowers for their first wedding anniversary.

They aren’t typical flowers; he has bred them himself, carefully working over the last several years to create the moon lily, which shines in the darkness and reminds him of her with its delicate bud. She is delighted, snuggling close in his lap and kissing his cheek, then his lips. Things go from there, and neither of them manages to undress completely before he is inside of her as she rides him, soft sounds delighting him as he makes her orgasm before he allows himself to spill inside of her.

She is still astride him, thighs clenched slightly to hold him in as she sighs and whispers, “Your gift will be here in an hour. I’m going to be staying with Ginny tonight.”

“What?” It makes no sense to him what she’s said, which isn’t entirely unusual with Luna, but Neville has become adept at following her logic over the years. He blinks and she just smiles at him, kissing his cheeks lightly.

“Harry’s gone off to Scotland for some assignment, and Ginny thought she wouldn’t mind the company. And you won’t want me here, I think.” She kisses him again, lingering. She sighs when his large hands come up to cover her small breasts, whimpering slightly at the tease of his thumbs against her nipples. He knows her body well, knows what makes her wriggle and cry out. She is the only one he has ever had like this, and the only one he will have.

“It’s our anniversary.” He cradles her back, helping her bend so he can taste her nipple, catching it with his teeth until it tightens into a sweet bud. “I want you here, in our bed.”

She laughs, and he flushes, wondering what he has done wrong.

“No, you don’t,” she says, and there is a smile on her lips as she slides off of his lap, leaving him soft and sticky in her wake. “I’m going to go shower and head out. Don’t forget to open the door when he knocks, Neville. You wouldn’t want him to get caught out in the cold.”

Neville has no idea what to say to that.

And hour later, when he is alone in the house and opens the front door to find Draco Malfoy standing there on the step, he remembers her words. There is nothing he can do but invite him in and watch as he shakes the snow from his robes before he shucks them and holds them out, waiting for Neville to take them.

“I don’t understand,” Neville says, waiting for the gift to be given.

“Didn’t your wife explain?” Malfoy cocks one eyebrow, that arch imparting a world of questions and amusement. “Of course not. I have the contract here, if you need to see it. Luna Longbottom has contracted with Midnight Delights for the services of one Draco Malfoy, for a time not less than one hour but not to exceed twelve hours, paid in advance. The contract states that I am to fuck one Neville Longbottom until he is quite well pleased with his gift, and that I am to provide him any service he might require, including the chance to enjoy any man of his choosing as long as I am able to replicate that man by potion or glamour.” He smiles thinly. “I have come prepared to be Harry Potter, as requested, but there are others I could be as well. It is up to you, Longbottom, who you wish to have up the arse. I promise you, I am quite good at what I do. I suspect your wife will be well-pleased with the value received for her generous payment. Is she here?”

“Er. No.” 

For their wedding anniversary, their _first_ wedding anniversary, Luna has procured a whore for Neville. A _male_ whore, who happens to be Draco Malfoy and is prepared to be Harry Potter on demand, if needed.

Neville swallows hard and fights the immediate reaction of his body.

It may sound wrong to his ears, but he wants it.

He gestures at the hall. “Second room on the left,” he says quietly. “Go on in and get settled on the bed. Naked, I suppose. Er. Don’t go into the other rooms. One’s my greenhouse, and it’s never comfortable if you’re not expecting the climate change. And the other is Luna’s laboratory, and things do tend to explode. I’d hate to have to explain that to your employer.”

That one eyebrow arches higher. “I see,” Draco says drily.

Neville thinks of him as Malfoy, usually, but it’s hard to say _Malfoy_ and _fuck_ in the same sentence, even in his mind. He thinks _Draco_ might be simpler, but it’s not. Perhaps it’s the word _fuck_ he is having difficulty with.

The flush rises to his cheeks, hot and making his clothing uncomfortable.

“Well then.” Neville waits, and after a moment Draco turns to head down the hallway.

“I rather assume you’ll be along directly,” Draco calls back without looking at him. “It’d be quite a shame if your wife paid for me to spend the evening in your bed alone.”

“I’ll be along,” Neville says quietly, although he sinks to sit on the sofa, head spinning.

Such a simple gift carries so very many complications. He just needs a moment to breathe.

#

Neville was drunk the night he confessed to Luna. 

It wasn’t that he wanted to hide it from her, but rather that he saw no reason to disturb their perfect relationship with something that would never be.

“Harry,” she said, her head tilted, her fingers flat against his thigh. “You’re in love with Harry.”

“Not just Harry,” he rushed to explain. “I love you, Luna, I truly do. More than life itself. But Harry… there’s something about him. Something I’ve never been quite able to explain. And it’s not like he’d ever love me back.”

“Well, no.”

He could always count on her to be honest, after all, even if her blunt words hurt.

She tapped her finger against the side of her mouth, thoughtful. “I suppose Ginny wouldn’t mind sharing with you, but I rather think Harry would rather share Ginny with you than share himself. He really is rather one-minded, isn’t he?” She reached to touch his arm, fingers sliding down until she caught his hand and tangled her small fingers with his. “I won’t say a word of it to either of them, I promise. And I don’t think you love me any less. I know how you feel and I know your heart, Neville.”

When she leaned in to kiss him, he pulled her closer, right onto his lap. His hands lifted her shirt, baring her small breasts so he could tease them. He wanted to reassure her that he _did_ love her, with all his heart and his body too. 

And when she whispered that it was _all right_ if he wanted to think about Harry while they made love, it only made him love her all the more for it.

Because sometimes he did.

#

Neville walks slowly down the hall, nudging open the door to the bedroom. He hadn’t really expected Draco to do as he said, but there he lies, skin a shimmer of marble and scars, on the top of the bedspread Gran made as a wedding gift.

Neville swallows, and tries to get his body under control.

“So?” Draco smirks as he sits up, his prick long and thin and already hard. “Are you ready for this, Longbottom? I’ll go slow, but I assure you, I’ve never had a man who hasn’t enjoyed it.”

“No.”

Both of Draco’s eyebrows quirk upward. “No? If I put my clothes on and leave, your wife will still be charged for the night. At the very least, let me show you the joys of your prostate. If you’ve been curious about anything at all, I’m certain that will tip the scales.”

Neville smiles tightly. “You’re not going anywhere,” he says quietly. “At least not anywhere out of this room. Get on your knees.” When Draco doesn’t move, staring bemusedly, Neville adds, “Please.”

“Polite,” Draco says, and slips off the bed and to his knees.

He is beautiful, Neville thinks. It’s not like he’s Harry, who is a little short, his shoulders broader than they used to be, and with all that messy hair and bright eyes. No, Draco is carved out of stone, like a lithe Greek statue come to life. Neville is surprised to realize that he wants him, almost as much as he has ever wanted Harry.

All this time he thought it was just about Harry. Maybe it’s something more than that.

He strips slowly, laying his shirt to the side and folding up his trousers before he lays them down as well. He shucks his boxers, freeing his awakening cock.

“Oh, well, now that’s intriguing, Longbottom. Who knew you had that hidden in your pants?” Draco hasn’t moved, but a warm flush stains his cheeks, and he motions with one finger. “Come here. I’d like a taste of that.”

“Quiet.” Neville coughs, digging deep to find his voice as he repeats more firmly. “Not a word, Draco. Not another word unless I ask something of you, and then you’ll call me Neville, not Longbottom. Sex is personal.”

Draco opens his mouth, but Neville crosses the room quickly and has his hand over it, pressing tight before Draco can speak.

“I said no,” Neville reminds him. “Now, are we clear?” He waits until Draco nods before he lets go. “Good.”

He can see the question in Draco’s eyes, the way his eyebrows lift and the grey colour darkens. Neville lets his fingers drift through his hair, messing up that perfect coif, tangling the pale strands slightly. That’s better.

“I want you to suck me,” he says quietly, moving to stand right in front of Draco, his hand still twisted in Draco’s hair. He tugs, just a bit, and Draco readily moves to capture the tip of Neville’s prick in his mouth.

Neville’s eyes close for just a moment, because _fuck_ , that’s good.

He’s only ever been with Luna, and her sweet small mouth that can capture the head and just a bit down, but she chokes if he thrusts. Neville is used to staying carefully still, letting her take control so that he doesn’t hurt her. But Draco is a professional, and when Neville twitches his hips forward, he sees his prick stretch Draco’s lips wide as he takes him in. “Take all of it,” he says, his voice still low as he holds on to Draco, making him take him in.

There’s a soft sound, a whimper as Neville moves and pushes harder, but Draco opens for him, somehow managing to get Neville’s entire prick into his mouth and throat. Tears prick the corners of Draco’s grey eyes, luminescent drops that slide down over his cheek. Neville touches one with his thumb and brings it to his lips, tasting salt.

Draco starts to move faster, and it’s _good_. It’s so damned good that Neville can feel himself starting to lose control, to get close, and he knows that’s what Draco must be doing. It’s his _job_ after all, to make sure Neville gets off, but Neville doesn’t want to do that yet. Not like this. Not when they’ve just started.

Besides, Neville fucked his wife not much more than an hour ago. He’s able to wrestle himself under control now.

He jerks Draco’s head back, fingers tight in his hair and holding on. Draco makes a sound of protest that catches in Neville’s gut, making it twist hot and hungry. Neville stays there, looking down, Draco under his control, and he waits for that moment when Draco’s gaze drifts up, looking at him from under his long, pale lashes.

Neville smiles. “There’s one thing Luna never actually asked me,” he says quietly. “I don’t want you to fuck me, Draco. I’m going to fuck you.”

“Bloody hell.”

Neville yanks on his hair, dragging Draco to his feet as soon as he hears the words spill out. “You’re not supposed to talk unless I’ve asked you to,” he reminds him. “I’m in charge. I’m _never_ in charge, and that’s what I want here. I want to be the one to say what happens, I want to fuck you, and I want to hear you scream.” He hadn’t thought it through so neatly before, but right now, with Draco naked and in front of him, it seems clear to Neville.

He tries to imagine Harry on his knees, and it doesn’t work. When he imagines Harry, he sees their roles reversed, sees Harry in charge, slowly fucking Neville’s face, then his arse.

But this is different. He doesn’t have to treat Draco as if he is delicate. He doesn’t have to worry about stretching too wide, or hurting. Draco is paid to be here, so Neville can just _be_ and _do._ It’s freeing, and Neville likes this sense of control. This idea that Draco has to _trust_ him.

Neville swallows, tongue darting out to lick his lips. He watches the path of Draco’s gaze, the way it settles on his mouth, and he starts to smile. “Get on the bed,” he says. “Get on the bed, and tell me how to make sure you’re ready for me.”

Draco stands slowly, limbs long and languid. Neville’s gaze fixes on the play of scars across his abdomen, silvered against his pale skin. Draco settles back against the pillows, his legs spread wide so that Neville can see the way his balls hang, the slender redness of his prick, and a peek at his hole, still tightly puckered. One hand settles against his belly, fingers splayed, and Draco watches Neville watching him. “You’ll need lubricant. I’ve brought some, in my robes.”

Neville finds the robes, discarded to the side, and he locates the small vial. It seems impossibly small, and he hopes that whatever is inside works with very little of it. Of course, this _is_ Draco Malfoy, so it’s likely the best. He can’t see him pinching pennies for something so important.

“And now?” Neville kneels on the bed between Draco’s legs, bending them, pushing his knees back towards his shoulders, exposing him. “Tell me what to do, Draco. Every step.”

Draco blinks, and for a moment he seems uncertain before the slow smirk starts. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to talk, Longbottom.”

Neville smacks his thigh before he thinks about it, leaving a bright handprint against that marbled skin. “It’s _Neville_. And this is your job, remember? So make it good for me, step by step.”

“It’s really a simple process, Neville,” Draco drawls. “Use the lubricant and your fingers. Open me up. When you think I’m big enough for your sodding thick cock, put it in and start fucking me.”

“What about you?”

Draco laughs. “I’m your whore, remember? You don’t need to worry about me.”

Neville shakes his head because that’s not how it works, and it’s not how he works. “Sex is personal,” he says quietly. “If you’re just going to lie back and do nothing, then it’s not going to be good for me. And since your job is to make it good, you’d best be into it.”

He thinks he might imagine that vulnerable look again before Draco tilts his head, looking down as he strokes his cock. “Start with one finger, then two. Take it slow. No matter how much you might want it, take it slow.”

“I can be patient.” Neville opens the vial, takes a tentative sniff before spilling it onto his fingers. He rubs them together, feeling the slick fluid warm and thicken. Magic then, definitely.

He presses one finger against that tight hole and is surprised how easily it slips in. Of course, he’s not the first one to do this to Draco, he shouldn’t have expected any different.

If it were Harry, it would be different. He’d be tight. Or Neville would be tight. He swallows hard, and sets aside those thoughts because it _isn’t_ Harry. It could be, he could tell Draco to swallow the polyjuice and look like Harry, but he won’t do that because he doesn’t want a fake Harry. If it’s Draco here in his bed, then that’s who he’s going to fuck.

He works the finger in and out, stroking the inside of Draco’s body, feeling what it’s like. The texture, the tight ring, the way Draco moves to shift his hips, seeking another push when Neville withdraws. It’s similar, but not so soft as Luna. It grabs in different ways, and he wonders how he will ever fit.

“Another finger, Neville.” Draco’s tone is firm, and Neville obeys, sliding the second finger in and pushing deep, twisting slightly. He twists, trying to see how deep he can go, how Draco’s reactions change as he explores him. The entire while, Draco’s gaze remains fixed on Neville’s hand, and he strokes his own cock.

“How does it feel?” Neville asks.

“Is that a request for me to talk dirty to you, or an honest question?” Draco responds, hips lifting. “It feels _good_ , Neville. How do you think it feels?”

“Odd,” he replies. “Tight. Possibly painful. I can’t imagine you want my prick in your arse.”

“I do.” The words come almost too quickly to be believed, but there is a flush that stains Draco’s marbled skin now, rising with heat the longer Neville fucks him with his fingers. Draco pauses, tongue between his teeth, groaning softly. “You’re trying to drive me mad with this. Sex is meant to be quick, Neville. Bang and done, get paid and move on.”

“Do you have another appointment?” Neville twists and manages to squeeze a third finger inside of Draco. He’s not sure that’s enough, but it’s likely to be the best he can manage.

“No.”

“Then don’t rush.” He pushes his fingers in hard, twisting as he withdraws, and Draco lifts his hips to meet him. “I think you’re almost ready.”

When Neville pulls his fingers free, he kneels between Draco’s legs, his own prick thick and heavy and aching, a small dot of moisture at the tip. It’s hardly enough, but Neville smooths it over the head anyway before he adds more lubricant, making sure he is as slick as if he just withdrew from Luna.

He positions himself carefully, pushing inside just a little bit and pausing because it is so different, so much tighter than his wife.

It’s odd how his own bottom aches in response.

“Is this what you want, to fuck our boy wonder?” Draco murmurs. “Go on, Neville. You can do what you want. Bottom out, go deep, fuck me hard until you can’t stop. That’s what I’m here for.”

Neville twitches his hips, sliding deeper. He grips Draco’s knees, pushing them closer to his chest, opening him wide as Neville pushes in. He stops himself with a groan, holding steady. “I want to see you get off first,” he manages to say. “I want to know _I did that to you_.”

Draco smirks. “And that’s why you want Harry on his back.”

Neville pushes in with a quick jerk of his hips, going as deep as is possible, balls slapping against Draco’s arse. “No,” he whispers. “I can’t even imagine fucking Harry, and I don’t want to fuck you polyjuiced as him, either. But I want to see you whine. I want to see you whimper, and scream, and writhe until you can’t stop. And when I tell you to, I want to see you orgasm all over your own chest, but not until I say.”

“Do you think you can control me?” Draco’s eyebrows arch, and Neville quickly places one hand over his mouth.

“Not another word,” he whispers. “I think I can manage this bit without instruction. The only sound I want to hear from you is screaming, and the louder you are, the more you let yourself go, the more likely it is I’ll let you finish.”

Neville releases his mouth carefully, waiting, watching as Draco gives him a look, but not a word is said, and Neville starts to smile. “Hold your knees,” he instructs. “Pull them as close to you as you can and hold them. Don’t let them go. Don’t touch anything else.”

He leans over Draco then, once they are in position, and he begins to thrust. Slow strokes at first, getting used to the different angle, to the way Draco pushes back against him. Waiting for the way Draco’s breath catches, trying to figure out how to play him, how to make him lose control.

He has never seen Draco Malfoy lose control, not even when they were seventeen and the world was turned on its ears and Neville was doing his damnedest to survive and falling in love with Luna and worrying about Harry. Draco seemed alternately afraid and blank back then, but he never once lost control.

He leans on one elbow, body bowed over Draco’s slender form as he _fucks_ him, letting go and pushing as deep as he can, loving the cry that’s wrenched free. His hand falls over Draco’s mouth, hot breath washing over him as he captures words with his fingertips, feeding them back to Draco before they can slip free into the air. “Let go,” he whispers. “Let go, let go, let go.”

The shudders build until Draco is shaking, moaning, crying out beneath him. Neville has no idea what he’s doing other than plunging into him, over and over again, but it seems to be doing the trick. His own balls draw up, tight and heavy, and Neville knows he is close.

“Do it,” he hisses. “Now. _Now_.” He needs to see this, to feel this, and when Draco breaks apart beneath him, sticky spurts painting their chests, that is more than Neville can take. He finds release with a low groan, spilling deep inside of Draco as his body tenses over him.

He lies there, forehead to forehead with Draco Malfoy, for a long moment before he finally withdraws.

“You can let go of your legs now.”

Draco slowly lowers his legs and he and Neville lie there on the bed, sticky and panting and silent.

Neville laughs, deep and low, when he realizes _why_ they are silent. “You can speak now, too,” he allows.

“So, Harry Potter.”

“So, a whore,” Neville counters, and he feels the flinch in the shoulder pressed up against his. “And not just Harry, obviously. Men, in general, and Harry in particular. Tell me you’ve never thought of him.”

“Everyone’s thought of him once or twice,” Draco says, voice lazy. “Some want to fuck him, some want to be him, but he figures in everyone’s fantasies. He’s the Boy Who Lived, after all.”

“He’s more than that.” Neville is fierce in his adoration; he always has been, ever since he was eleven.

“I know.” Draco falls silent on his own after that. “Happy anniversary,” he adds, after a while. “I believe you’ve gotten what your wife paid for.”

“Have I?” Neville twists to look at him, all pale skin and sticky jism. The white trails crisscross the scars, and Neville reaches out to paint the one against the other, tracing those silvered lines. “Luna bought and paid for the entire night, I’m guessing, since she’s gone out and won’t be back. I intend to keep my gift and use it to the full extent she meant it for.”

“You’ve already fucked me, Longbottom, and as impressive as that cock is, I don’t think my arse can handle it twice in one night,” Draco says dryly. “What do you plan for an encore?”

“It’s Neville,” he responds. “And I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”

It’s not Harry, and Neville doesn’t really want it to be Harry, not now. He just wants it to be here, and real, and now.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Midnight Delights](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1658699) by [tryslora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora)




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